


Two Tales of Bondage: King Rooster

by Tierra469



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BINGO Y'all!, Double Anal Penetration, Handcuffs, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group Bingo 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierra469/pseuds/Tierra469
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Tales of Bondage - one light and one dark. This one dark. Mind the tags.</p><p>Alexandria is under Negan’s thumb, and Rick’s plans go awry when he is taken to task, in a humiliating way, for a mutiny he didn’t authorize.</p><p>“You assholes,” Negan said, addressing the five kneeling, “watch closely and think twice about whether you really wanna be King Rooster.”</p><p>Set in Alexandria's (not too distant) future, and based loosely on happenings in the comic. I do not own the Walking Dead nor are these characters (except the henchmen) mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Tales of Bondage: King Rooster

It made Daryl furious… the way Negan’s men made themselves right at home in their house—in _his_ house. He’d never thought of it as his house until now; always their house, or Rick’s house. But seeing those pricks with their boots up on the coffee table, lounging on _his_ couch, sticking their knives into the kitchen countertop and rummaging through the cupboards, knocking Judith’s sippy cup to the floor and leaving it there…

It was all he could do to keep his mouth shut. But shut it he did. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and Rick had given his men a sharp look that all but said _keep your head up and your trap closed_ as four of the goons hustled him to the basement door and forced him down the stairs just fifteen minutes ago.

Daryl looked over at the other four men, perched tense and silent in kitchen chairs, their hands zip-tied behind their backs. Aaron and Tobin stared at the floor; Abraham and Spencer glared furiously around the room as Daryl had been doing. This morning’s little coup against the Saviors having failed, he and the other four had been singled out and marched into the house along with Rick at gun-point. Negan had perhaps sixty heavily-armed men with him, and they easily put down the Alexandrian mutiny almost as soon as it had started. Daryl wasn’t surprised; without Rick’s leadership, there was no way it could have succeeded. Rick would not have agreed to it, had he been aware of Abraham’s plan. But it was Rick who would be taken to task for their actions now, and Daryl didn’t even want to think about what was going on down in that basement.

No sound reached his ears from the lower floor, other than some clanking that seemed to be coming from directly under his feet.

The front door banged open again, and Negan himself swaggered in; Daryl’s heart sank to see that the slight figure accompanying him was Carl. The boy glanced at them through his one good eye, meeting each of their gazes and giving them a nod to let them know he was ok. Well, he might be alright for now, Daryl thought, but he was still _leverage._ Currency in Negan’s deadly game of Monopoly. Having Carl here now would only make things harder for Rick.

The twenty-plus thugs desecrating Daryl’s house snapped to attention at Negan’s booming announcement. “It’s fuckin’ SHOWTIME, boys! Capiche? Andiamo!”

The tall, barrel-chested man strode into the room and stopped before the five men in the chairs. “Well, what are you sorry fucks waiting for? Take me to your goddamn leader!”

Daryl could hear Abraham muttering to himself on their way down the basement stairs, the ten or so of Negan’s men accompanying them sounding like a herd of elephants on the steps. “Son of a Christly bitch, welcome to Dickedyville…”

Two or three bare lightbulbs glowed from the ceiling in the unfinished space; the floor cold cement under their boot heels as the small crowd rounded the corner. In front of him, Aaron let out a surprised huff, and the five Alexandrians were halted and forced to their knees on the floor. Looking up, Daryl’s heart nearly stopped, his body instantly breaking out into a cold sweat. He forced himself to close his mouth slowly.

Rick stood before them, arms lifted and outstretched and fastened by handcuffs to pipes and ductwork in the ceiling. He had been stripped down to nothing but a dangerous look, skin glowing a pale gold in the incandescent light, a fine sheen of sweat filming his forehead and chest. He looked like buck naked Christ on the cross.

“Rick…” Daryl breathed, and the leader’s eyes flicked to his for a moment, narrowing. Rick gave a minute shake of his head. _Don’t try anything. Don’t._

Negan clucked his tongue, strolling slowly up to the front of the room. “Rick, Rick, Rick…” Rick stood up straighter, glaring directly into the man’s eyes, though he had to look up to do it.

“I thought we had a fuckin’ understanding, my man. I thought we had a deal.” Negan shook his head, sighing theatrically. “After everything I’ve done for you.” He raised his eyebrows then and gestured around the room at his men, standing guard over the kneeling Alexandrians. “After everything _we’ve_ done for you.”

“All you’ve done is kill our friend and take from us,” Rick growled.

Negan frowned. “Let me remind you of the extent of my benevolence,” he replied. “We only killed _one_ of your friends, in retaliation for the _four_ of us _you_ killed. We’re only taking _half_ your supplies—not all of them. _And_ you get a free pass on the food this time. Lastly, don’t forget who cleared the fuckin’ road from here clear to Hilltop—for all of us to use and enjoy.”

“You can also be grateful,” Negan continued, “that I’ve only dragged five of your fucking _‘friends’_ down here to watch this little shit show. Women and children are excused. Including your son, who’s upstairs playing fuckin’ Chutes and Ladders and enjoying some tunes with Brian and Len. Unless you _want_ him down here, that is…”

“No,” Rick blurted.

Negan smiled sweetly. “No. Of course you wouldn’t. No kid needs to see his old man like this.”

Then the man turned to his lackeys and gestured. “Hey—who the fuck’s got my baby?”

“Right here, sir,” a young man in a red cap answered, and stepped forward to hand something to his leader. Daryl could hear someone gasp quietly, and a sudden wave of nausea swept over him at the sight of Negan’s signature weapon. Even if the other four men had not all been there the first time the Alexandrians had encountered it, they were all well-aware of their friend’s gruesome death at Negan’s hand.

Negan reached out to take the wooden baseball bat carefully, its grip worn smooth, its barrel wrapped tightly in layers of barbed wire. “Ah, Lucille,” he cooed, smiling at the weapon as if at a lover. “I’m thinkin’ we’re gonna have us a threesome tonight. But you may or may not be invited. So be patient.”

The leader of the Saviors looked back up at Rick, then over at each of the men kneeling on the floor. The smell of terror began to permeate the room, and Daryl flashed back to the trough at Terminus. He had been ashamed at the helplessness he’d felt there… and vowed he’d never feel it again. No fear—fear was useless. And anger—well, anger could make you stupid. But how was he supposed to look at what was happening in front of him and feel neither?

Negan lifted the bat to his shoulder and took a few slow, careful practice swings—aiming in the general vicinity of Rick’s groin—while he talked.

“Y’know, speaking of patience, I can be a very fuckin’ patient man. I think I’d be within my rights, given this goat-fuck of a situation, to let Lucille make love to you right now. And believe me, she wants to. She’s a greedy little cunt, and she generally gets what she wants.”

Daryl watched Rick’s nostrils flare, saw his jaw clenching tight and his Adam’s apple bob once as he swallowed hard. But the man never flinched, never took his laser-focused gaze from Negan’s face.

“Hey,” Abraham blurted beside him, and Daryl realized where the fear smell was coming from, “You need to know—Rick never authorized today’s ambush.”

Negan didn’t look at Abe, but nodded thoughtfully, absorbing this new information. “So what we have here is a failure to communicate. All the more reason that killing you, Rick—or even maiming you but good—would only make you a fuckin’ martyr. And we can’t have that.”

He turned and took a couple steps toward the kneeling men—toward Daryl, who was first in the lineup. “Now I could fuck _you_ up instead,” Negan said with a cold smile, then looked at Abraham. “Or you. But Lucille fuckin’ hates gingers.” He looked hard at Aaron, then Spencer and Tobin. “I could pick any one of you ungrateful motherfuckers to crush, and try to teach you the same fuckin’ lesson all over again—but why would it stick this time, if you were too fuckin’ stupid to learn it the first time around?”

“And really,” he proclaimed, returning to face Rick, “it all comes back to you. You can’t tell me you don’t run this place with an iron fuckin’ fist, man. You’re a real Type A. If these fuckwads,” and he pointed the lethal baseball bat at Abraham, “went behind your back and tried to fuck me over, then it’s up to YOU to crush them. Don’t you think?”

 _Oh Jesus, no,_ Daryl thought, imagining Negan forcing the bat into Rick’s hands. That could only end horrifically for all of them.

“You’ve got some pretty fuckin’ big balls, Rick Grimes, and I respect that.” Negan stepped back, cradling his bat in his arms, and peered down at Rick’s exposed apparatus. He tilted his head a little. “Don’t look so big right now,” he mused, “but if I were them I’d be fuckin’ hiding right now, too.”

Negan’s men laughed, and Daryl cringed, feeling a surge of rage and bile rising in his gut.

“So here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna re-establish our little pecking order. You and I had a deal. Remember when I told you that I was gonna shove it up your ass and you were gonna thank me? Well… I didn’t mean that literally at the time, but I’m thinkin’ maybe I’m a fuckin’ genius after all. Marcellus—come on up. Colin, you too. See, I’m gonna show you who’s the boss of you, Rick. Then I’m gonna leave you to sort out the rest. You’re either gonna deal with this insubordination—have yourself a big ol’ cockfight and kick some rooster tail here—or I’m gonna be dealing with a different cock next time we come, I imagine. And hopefully, we won’t have to do this twice.”

“You assholes,” Negan said, addressing the five kneeling, “watch closely and think twice about whether you really wanna be King Rooster.”

As Negan stepped back and pulled up a stool to watch, Marcellus and Colin sauntered up to Rick. The young, slender white man, perhaps in his twenties, moved to stand behind Rick, while the older Marcellus, ebony-skinned, tall and muscular, stood toe to toe with the former sheriff, looking down into his eyes with a smirk. Both of them had what appeared to be prison tats, Daryl noticed.

“I myself prefer pussy,” Negan noted nonchalantly, “but when I asked for a couple of volunteers, these two motherfuckers were kind enough to step forward, having the right proclivities and experience for this activity.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me,” Rick growled.

Marcellus’ smirk turned into a grin, revealing a gold tooth, and he began unbuckling his belt. Colin pulled a small tube of lube from his pants pocket and snapped open the cap, causing Rick to crane his neck to see what was happening behind him. Marcellus took the opportunity to step up close, running one hand down Rick’s bare torso, while pulling his dick out of his jeans with the other. Rick spun back around, trying to pull away but bumping into the man behind him.

Daryl could see the whites of Rick’s eyes, could see his friend begin to lose composure, caught in his own struggle with fear and anger. Looking down the line of men kneeling at his side, Daryl took in their stunned faces, eyes wide and disbelieving. Were they really all so useless?

“Stop, you fuckin’ pricks!” he bellowed, trying to lurch to his feet, and was rewarded with a sharp kick in the stomach from a steel-toed boot.

When he uncurled, gasping, from his fetal position, he was just in time to see Colin squeeze a cold dollop of lube onto three fingers, and suddenly smear it down the crack of Rick’s ass, making the man’s breath hiss between his teeth and his muscles clench. The stranger laughed, rubbing some of the lube between his own hands before slicking up his dick. Daryl could hear the wet sound of it sliding through his hand.

“Toss me some of that, bro,” Marcellus urged, and Colin tossed the tube over Rick’s head to his compatriot.

“Holy shitstain,” Abraham breathed, his eyes wide, “they are really gonna do this.”

Rick glared daggers at the man in front of him, as Marcellus squeezed out a little lube, warmed it, and began working his half-hard dick, just inches from Rick’s body. The thing began to grow to rather monstrous proportions.

“You bring that fuckin’ thing any closer and you’re gonna lose it,” Rick breathed, low and threatening. Marcellus just laughed, a low, musical sound, and rubbed himself against the crease of Rick’s hip-bone, leaning in to kiss Rick’s jaw.

Rick lashed out like a man possessed, head-butting his attacker and lifting a leg to kick out viciously, trying to knee Marcellus in the groin.

“Ho!” Marcellus cried, and danced sideways to avoid Rick’s knee, at the same time hooking an arm under his lifted leg and cranking it upwards, throwing him off balance. Colin reached down and grabbed Rick’s other leg, and Rick suddenly found himself lifted off the ground and pinned between the two men, thighs spread wide. Catcalls, hoots and jeers erupted from the peanut gallery.

“What the _fuck?!”_ Spencer blurted.

A roar erupted from Rick’s throat, and Daryl saw what was coming before it happened: Rick lunged at the man holding him, trying to bite—but Marcellus was younger and quicker than Joe had been, and with Rick’s arms restrained, his teeth snapped on empty air. He began to kick and thrash madly—nearly dislodging the two men holding onto him like starfish on a mussel—until Negan shouldered his bat once more, stepped up, and grabbed Rick by the hair, twisting his head to look up into the man’s face.

“You injure my men, it won’t go unpunished,” he said loudly and firmly, the threat in his voice unmistakable. “Stop the fuckery and take your medicine, or Carl will be joining us and so will Lucille.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Rick groaned, panting. “Negan, listen… Negan!”

Negan simply laughed and took his seat again.

All Daryl could do was watch helplessly as Rick stilled and threw his head back to stare up at the ceiling, arms straining as he held onto the handcuff chains tying him to the rafters. From his position, Daryl could barely see what was actually happening behind his friend, but he could see Rick’s face responding. Rick’s jaw tensed, teeth grinding as fingers pushed into him, despite his body’s clenching resistance. “Oh, yeah,” the man behind Rick purred. “C’mon now, baby, just relax that sweet little ass.” Nobody in the room seemed to move or breathe while the man finger-fucked Rick vigorously for a few moments. He then tried once, twice, three times to remove his fingers and replace them with his dick, but Rick managed to tighten up enough each time to fend him off. The fourth time however, was the charm—Rick was tiring, spread legs shaking and body slick with sweat, and Daryl saw his leader’s eyes blow wide when the man behind him suddenly entered him with a little cry of victory.

Marcellus uttered that deep laugh again, his big hands moving all over Rick’s quaking body, now spreading his ass cheeks, now pinching his nipples, now reaching between their bodies to pull at Rick’s recalcitrant cock. The man behind Rick began thrusting in and out of his body, _ohyeahfuckyeahohthat’sgood,_ and Daryl could see Rick’s lips fall open, his breath coming in short pants. He suddenly caught a glimpse of something shining against Rick’s belly, and realized with amazement that his friend now had a hard-on.

Daryl was horrified to find himself responding in-kind.

Marcellus grew tired of waiting his turn. As Daryl stared through his bangs, unable to look away, the dark-skinned man snaked a hand under Rick’s tight balls, felt the cock sliding in and out of Rick’s asshole, and added a finger, then two. Rick let out a whimper, blinking wide-eyed at the ceiling; then Marcellus crouched and thrusted, and suddenly there was a second slippery cock pushing into Rick, stretching and opening him what appeared to Daryl to be unbearably. Rick’s mouth opened in a silent cry, then closed on his lower lip, biting down until blood began to flow.

Daryl couldn’t help but let out a sympathetic moan, the sound lost in the noise of Negan’s men whooping and laughing. His throat burned white-hot with Rick’s humiliation.

Rick turned his head away from his friends, trying to bury his face in his armpit as his two assailants succeeded in splitting him open and impaling him completely, making noises of ecstatic pleasure that made Daryl’s skin crawl. Marcellus dug his dark fingers into pale hips as the two men began to slam into Rick’s body with a vengeance. They managed to clumsily sustain double penetration for a few moments—then Marcellus took over and left Colin to jerk off behind them.

Negan’s watching thugs commenced to chant, and beside Daryl, Abraham suddenly leapt to his feet. He barely took a step before two of the goons tackled him to the floor, one of them smacking him just hard enough with the butt of his rifle to stun the big redhead. They dragged him back into the lineup unceremoniously.

“Ass down,” one of the men barked, “and eyes open!” Somebody else stepped up to smack Tobin in the face, then grab Aaron by the hair to jerk his bowed head up, forcing them both to continue viewing the spectacle before them.

At that moment, Rick let out a sudden cry, startling them all.

“Oh _fuck!_ Fuck… ah… you…” He lifted his head to fix his gaze again on Marcellus, his blue eyes blazing brightly as their bodies rocked. “This all you _got!?_ You call this a _fuckin’!?_ C’mon, boy, I ain’t gonna break! Yer gonna do me, then DO ME!”

The man behind Rick barked out a laugh. “Ha! I told ya he was a whore! You like it, dontcha?”

“Ah, yes!” Marcellus rumbled. “You want it, you got it!”

His big hands on Rick’s ass began to lift the man up and down to meet his thrusts, and Rick threw his head back and cried out again, “Oh, _hell yes,_ that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Fuck! Yes!”

“Jesus,” Abraham muttered next to him, and Daryl realized his mouth had fallen open again, but he couldn’t begin to close it. The energy in the room had suddenly changed completely.

Rick’s mouth curled into a sneer and he began to growl and groan with each heaving breath; as Daryl watched, Rick’s whole body tensed, muscles straining under sweat-soaked skin, toes curling, thighs trembling as his knees clutched at the black man’s sides. Eyes squeezed shut, Rick suddenly gasped and hollered, and to Daryl’s surprise, drops of pearly white jism appeared on Marcellus’ dark chest and belly.

The other two men shortly followed suit, painting Rick from belly to thighs, much to the delight of Negan’s whistling, hooting onlookers.

Moments later, Rick stood toe to toe with Negan once again, his gaze bright-eyed but stone-cold, a chilling, maniacal half smile on his lips. It reminded Daryl of the way Rick had looked at Gareth over the trough at Terminus. _…a machete with a red handle. That’s what I’m going to kill you with…_

Negan wiped tears of laughter from his eyes as one of his minions struggled to unfasten Rick’s handcuffs from the ceiling.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, that was the best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in a long time,” Negan said weakly, his sides still shaking. “Rick Grimes, you are a piece of work. You must’ve been a fuckin’ porn star back in the day.”

Negan turned to Daryl, still grinning. “Gimme that fuckin’ shop rag,” he said, gesturing with his fingers.

“I would if my hands weren’t tied,” Daryl ground out. _And if they weren’t tied they’d have been around your goddamn throat._

“Oh for Chrissake, untie him,” Negan ordered. One of the flunkies lifted Daryl to his feet by an elbow and slit the ziptie, freeing his arms. Daryl pulled the red rag from his back pocket and handed it shakily to Negan, who grabbed Rick’s freed hand and pressed the cloth into it.

“Clean yourself up, Cool Hand Luke, you’re a fuckin’ mess,” Negan said to Rick, then turned to his men, including Marcellus and Colin, who had by now tucked their dicks back in their jeans. “I think our work is done here, boys.” He gestured to Daryl’s compatriots, still kneeling stunned on the floor. “You sorry fucks stay down here till we’re gone, or we’re gonna have a problem. Count to 100 and think about what you’ve done wrong. Uncle Negan’ll be back in a month.”

Negan leaned close to Rick, then, smiling and murmuring something in his ear, and as he pulled back, Daryl swore he saw Rick mouth a “thank you.” Rick’s expression never changed.

Daryl wrestled out of his vest, and when the man with the handcuff key released Rick’s second wrist, Daryl stepped up and wrapped the garment quickly around Rick’s middle, feeling his friend’s arm come down around his shoulders as Rick leaned on him heavily.

The goons pounded up the stairs, rounded up their troops on the ground floor, and within moments the front door slammed shut behind them.

Abraham, Spencer, Aaron and Tobin got slowly and silently to their feet, hands still tied behind their backs. Daryl wondered if they were more stunned by what they’d just witnessed, or by the fact that they were all still alive.

Carl’s voice drifted down the stairs. “Dad…?”

“Give us a couple minutes, Carl!” Abraham yelled. Then he sternly addressed the six men still in the basement. “Listen up. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” he growled. Daryl looked up to see Abe glaring at Spencer in particular from under his brushy red eyebrows. “Understood?”

“Yeah,” they all muttered in unison.

Abraham grunted, nodded at Daryl, then herded the rest of the men toward the stairs.

“Tell Carl I’ll be up,” Rick croaked, and Daryl could feel him shaking like a leaf. “We’re all gonna have a talk tomorrow.”

“You ok?” Daryl murmured gently, as soon as they were gone.

Rick snorted, trying to pull away but barely able to stand up on his trembling legs. “Been worse,” he grumbled. He pushed Daryl’s vest back at him, and Daryl turned around while Rick attempted to clean his belly and thighs and backside with the shop rag, leaning with one hand on the stool.

“Sure yer ok?”

Rick didn’t answer, grimacing while he swiped at himself. Daryl fetched Rick’s clothes from the floor and brought them to his friend. Another question burned in his mind, had smoldered there for days and now threatened to burst him into flames.

“Why, Rick?”

“Why _what?”_ Rick snapped at him.

“Why the fuck did you…” Daryl had to stop, his voice breaking. “Why did you just roll over fer him? Why did you let him in, an’ tell him he could have our stuff? Why didn’t you wanta fight?”

Tears sprung to Daryl’s eyes, and Rick looked at him like he’d gone crazy.

“You really think I didn’t have a plan?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I barely told anybody. Negan needed to think we’d caved. YOU needed to think we’d caved. Jesus is going to follow him now…” Rick angrily pulled his shirt on, tried to shove his legs into his pants, but stumbled, Daryl catching him.

“You didn’t trust me, Rick!”

“You didn’t trust ME!” Rick cried. “And now…” Daryl steadied his friend while Rick pushed his other leg into his jeans and dragged them up over his hips. He zipped the fly, and Daryl watched him fumble with the button, his hands shaking too hard to accomplish the task. “Fuck…” he whimpered.

Daryl looked up to see Rick’s face crumpling, and he grabbed his friend and pulled him close, pressing their foreheads together. “Rick, I didn’t know…” he moaned. “When Abraham said… I only went along ‘cause… I thought you…”

“Should’ve told you,” Rick breathed. “I should’ve told you.”

They stood together for a few moments, clutching each other’s shoulders, gathering in their emotions, drawing strength from each other, until Rick’s shaking subsided. Somehow, they would move on from this. They always did.

“Someday Negan’s gonna fuckin’ pay,” Daryl growled. “You can cut his balls off and shove ‘em down his throat before I put a bolt in his fuckin’ head.”

Rick pulled away and stood up straight, rubbing at his wrists—a faraway look in his eye. “Naw. Killing him would be too easy,” he said slowly. “When I get the best of him—and I will—I’m gonna put him in handcuffs and lock him up here. In this fuckin’ basement. Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> OK, I admit, I can't wait for Negan. If you made it this far, please give some love (or hate!). I live for your comments. Thanks for reading!


End file.
